Chapter 32:

The Careers stop running when Copper falls to the ground- Paavo needs to get his knife. When he withdraws it, Copper twitches slightly, but then lies still. The Careers then focus on pulling Ruby's spear out of her dead body before the helicopter flies in and picks up her remains. Paavo sees another beaver and quickly kills it. After that- they appear emotionally drained, and pick some berries before heading back to camp with their game, to regroup.

A little while later, when it's clear that the loud voices of the Careers are long gone, the members of the alliance slowly venture out. Jack checks the food supply stowed in the hollow trunk of a tree- they had hidden it from their camp to keep the Careers from taking it, and didn't want it to weigh them down when they were running. Prim slowly approaches Copper lying motionless in the dirt.

"Um, did anyone hear the cannon fire?" she asks quietly. The rest of the alliance shakes their head. That's when Prim quickly squats down and feels for Copper's pulse. Though very faint, it's still distinct. The knife didn't hit her squarely in the spine; it was off to the side a bit, and it didn't go in to the hilt.

Upon the realization that Copper is still alive, Prim's healing instinct kicks in, and she starts quietly giving orders to the rest of the alliance. She tells Jack and Annella to find a source of water- they had been drinking bottled water from the Cornucopia but their supply had quickly dwindled- and she needs to use the rest to wash Copper's wound off. They head off in a direction that the group had not yet explored. Mouseface remains and plays the role of healer's aide as Prim tends to Copper's gaping wound.

A couple of hours later, after Prim and Mouseface had washed, disinfected, and bandaged Copper's back, using nothing but the plants Prim had collected, Jack and Annella return to the group, triumphant. Annella is carrying several salmon and pike on her trident. "The river isn't far," she says, nodding her head towards the direction from which they came. "I speared them myself," she said proudly, waving her weapon. She lowers her voice at the sight of Copper's body. "Is….she going to be okay?" Copper is stationary and unconscious.

Prim shrugs. "I don't know," she says, "but I've done all I can. I've cleaned her back thoroughly, used Nerium Oleander andEucalyptus to disinfect her wound, and used some moss and tape I found in the Cornucopia to bandage her up. I think she just needs rest and water now. I can have her chew on what seems to be a Capitol-bred cold-weather Papaver somniferum plant to treat her pain when she wakes up." The alliance nods, impressed, and carries Copper, along with the rest of the food, back to their camp.

I am in awe at my sister's healing- Copper could have died. Instead, she is gently laid out near the fire back at camp, recovering peacefully- you can see her chest slowly rise and fall as she breathes deeply. The alliance, now fully awake and without the imminent threat of the Careers, can take stock of their inventory, do chores around the campsite, and hunt. They eat a hearty breakfast of fish.

Even though it's not even lunchtime, I hope that this is the end of the violence for at least a little while. There have already been five deaths so far- for the second day, this is a substantial number. But one never knows in the Games. For once, I feel like stepping away from the TV screen for a little bit. After everything that's happened in the past twenty-five hours, if the Gamemakers decide that they need the alliance to suffer anymore before dinner, I'm likely to go crazy anyway.

I look at Peeta, eyebrow cocked. "So," I begin, "Now that all of that just happened I need to try and forget about this stuff for the next couple of hours if I want to keep sane. Any ideas?"

Peeta's eyes light up, and he gives me a devilish grin. "A few," he replies. He reaches for the remote, and for the first time since the sound of the gong, the input I received from the Games is completely severed as he shuts the TV off. The silence is deafening. He then leans over and kisses me.

The next few hours go by like the drop of a hat.

Later that afternoon, we head back down to the Capitol wagering bar to see Haymitch. Peeta says he's ready to make nice and we're eager to check in on his progress with the sponsors, start watching the Quell again. I glance over at Peeta as we are headed down the elevator, and he looks as happy as I've ever seen him. My cheeks are still flushed from making out.

It was a little weird at first, kissing him again after what happened last night. Things have irrevocably changed- I can no longer make out with him without thinking about the fact that Peeta definitely hopes for more than what we are currently doing. Blissfully unaware of this until last night, now that my eyes are opened to it, I find myself wondering just what exactly what I want from him in return- I had never really stopped to consider it before. I think about the honeymoon suite, the heart-shaped lock- obviously the Capitol would support us having sex pretty much as soon as possible- if for no other reason than that it would increase our chances of conceiving a child that could then become their pawn, that they could use as a symbol against the rebellion. But one thing's clear to me now- Peeta will do whatever I'm willing to do- it's up to me to establish the boundaries. Which is starting to get increasingly complicated as kissing him has changed so much the more we do it. It's a little hard to believe now that I used to kiss him just for the sake of the cameras, and not for the kissing itself- because wow. It has become pretty spectacular lately.

When we finally spot Haymitch, he is sitting at the bar with a row of shots lined up beneath him- half liquor, and half of whatever that glowing green liquid is, alternating throughout. After taking a shot of one, he immediately makes sure to follow it up with the other. I laugh as Peeta and I approach and sit beside him.

"Can't decide?" I ask teasingly.

"No, they sort of balance each other out," Haymitch mumbles. "The alcohol tires me out; the green stuff keeps me up. And both of them make me feel better."

I can't argue with him. But I'm not drinking that green stuff again. Staying up all night to watch the Games was nice, but I don't want to keep doing that to myself- especially since I feel like I'm crashing now. Plus, I don't like feeling out of control- because it can hurt other people. Peeta being upset after I told him I love him is a perfect example of that. I do, but he didn't need to hear it that way. Then again, I'm not sure when I ever would have felt comfortable saying it otherwise.

When Haymitch looks up and sees that Peeta is present as well, he lets out a fairly typical grunt.

"Look, I'm sorry about overreacting the way that I did," Peeta begins. "I shouldn't have gotten so worked up."

Haymitch doesn't look up at him at first, just takes another drink. "Meh," he grumbles. But then he softens, meets Peeta's eye, puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder. "I know why you did, kid. You don't need to say anything else about it." He gives Peeta a knowing look, eyes sparkling a moment, before falling silent again.

"Ahem," I say to alert the boys to my presence, in case they had forgotten that I was standing right there, but more importantly to interrupt, change the subject. "Any news on- you know-," I lower my voice to a whisper, "the sponsorships for Prim? And the plan for the alliance?"

Haymitch grunts again. "No good news. I've spoken with a couple potential sponsors in the last few hours- people like that Prim was able to save Copper; that helped her. But Armondo's obviously spoken with a couple of his high-powered friends, too; they won't talk to me at all now. So it's so-so." Haymitch glances around a minute before whispering back to me. "As far as your other question goes, things are starting to fall apart," he begins frantically. "The District 4 mentors, including Finnick Odair, won't even talk to me after what Paavo pulled. I just spoke with Johanna Mason in District 7, and she said that, and um, don't flip out now, but that if things go according to plan, when the rebel armies go to break the tributes out of the arena, they won't risk anything for the ones from District 12- they could end up just leaving them there."

"What?" I nearly fall off of my chair. "How- how- could they do that to them?"

Haymitch snorts. "C'mon, sweetheart. Look, District 12 isn't even really rebelling; the only reason I was able to get us involved in this alliance was to convince the other district mentors that we wanted to do something too, that they could trust us. You really think they can trust the District 12 tributes now? You think the rebels from Districts 3 and 4 are going to risk their lives for Paavo, when no one even from District 12 is? Gimme a break." Haymitch sneers at me.

I try to swallow this awful news, but try to rationalize that it won't matter much as long as the alliance sticks together; surely if they're lowering a rope for Annella they'll let Prim jump on, too? How much more risk could she possibly be?

Haymitch takes another drink. "Not that it really matters anyway," he mumbles.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Peeta and I ask in unison.

Haymitch shrugs. "The District 7 rebels have lost their hold in the town square; the Captiol has sent a ton of Peacekeepers out to that district, and to Districts 8 and 11. We're going to lose rebel control of those districts soon- we'll be lucky if they last the day. I don't think they're going to have the forces to pull an 'arena-break' off."

Something jars in my memory. "Haymitch," I whisper to him, "what happened to the tributes from District 11? Why haven't they been shown on the TV?"

Haymitch scoffs. "Dead."

"Dead? How do you know? Did you see them die?"

In response, Haymitch pulls a photo from his jacket pocket. "I know a guy in the control room pretty well. Apparently their stylists somehow slipped the tributes black markers."

He shows us the picture. On the left half is the male tribute; on the right the female Seeder look-alike. They are both sprawled out on their metal circles, stiff, pallid, frozen to death. And on both of their torsos, clearly block-printed in huge black letters on their pale blue jackets, are the words 'FUCK THE CAPITOL'.